Wyatt Tanner had been on the trail for years, so it seemed to him. He had spent several months out in the wilds, having suffered two different Indian attacks and left with nothing of value execpt the horse he rode on. A horse which he would only give up upon death...and somehow the Indians seemed to respect that. They'd left him with a small blade and that was all, so traveling as he was it was a mite difficult to keep both himself and Equinox, his bay, alive.
If you were to ask him why he was making this trek, he probably wouldn't answer you. You would think there was no reason, just some impersonal force that drove him onwards, on and on, slow and crawling when needed but moving ever forward. Toward a small, dusty town he once knew. If he were honest with himself, he could tell you exactly why and what it was that drew him toward that town.
It's too bad he stopped believing, hardly showed his humanity to anyone lately and but seldom spoke a single word even to his horse. Someone, a s